


falling in your kingdom is like flying

by redledgers



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Smut, Wings, metaphors and stuff, what else do you expect, wings and softness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 20:13:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20606636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redledgers/pseuds/redledgers
Summary: The Los Angeles night cools her skin, and she traces the curve of his shoulder with her gaze, follows the line of his arm to where he holds the cigarette against his lips. There’s an empty glass, once full of scotch, dangling from his other hand, and even though they’re so high up and his grip is nonchalant, she knows he won’t drop it.He wouldn’t drop her, either.





	falling in your kingdom is like flying

The silk is soft against Chloe’s skin as she presses her face into the pillow. When she opens her eyes, she is greeted with the city spread out beyond the penthouse and a slowly cooling space beside her. Her body aches, not unpleasantly, and she stretches each limb as she searches the visible space for Lucifer.

She finds him only when she peels herself away from the blessedly soft sheets. He stands on the balcony, head bowed and wings splayed. Chloe hesitates until she catches the light scent of cigarette smoke, and she pads out to join him at the rail, just at the edge of his wingspan. The Los Angeles night cools her skin, and she traces the curve of his shoulder with her gaze, follows the line of his arm to where he holds the cigarette against his lips. There’s an empty glass, once full of scotch, dangling from his other hand, and even though they’re so high up and his grip is nonchalant, she knows he won’t drop it.

He wouldn’t drop her, either.

“Hey,” she says, nudging his feathers, and she watches him roll his neck before his gaze slides to her.

His cigarette is gone before she can even say anything, pinched out and flicked aside, and he grins at her. “Thought I’d let you sleep some more,” he says, shifting his wing so she can step closer to him. They’re warm and soft, static crackling around her in a way that makes her tingle. Naked and towering above the city of angels, she feels less exposed than she is. This is their kingdom, and it is good. “What brings you out here?” he asks as she settles against him.

“You,” she says softly. Lucifer’s body is solid beside her and she feels the heat that radiates off of him as she noses his collarbone, places a kiss in the curve of his neck.

“Well, surely it wasn’t for the view,” he replies. His fingertips trail sparks across her shoulders, down her back, until they come to rest at her hip, where she can feel the beginning of a bonfire building within her.

She tilts her head so she can see him better, so she can look at the cut of his jaw, the arch of his wing. “I don’t know, the view is pretty nice.” How many painters had used him as a muse? How many sculptures were made in his likeness? Graven images, she thinks, for none of them could do him justice when his profile is rimmed in moonlight and the glow of the city, when he looks at her like she is the only holy thing he has ever beheld.

He leans close and huffs a laugh into the crown of her head, and Chloe can feel the cool glass of the balustrade against her thigh. She bites her lip and places her palm against his chest. “Would you let me fall?” she asks, looking at her hand instead of his face, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath her fingertips. When he doesn’t reply, her gaze flicks to his face, and what she sees makes her ache, the feeling bursting forth from a deep, forgotten part of her soul.

“I wouldn’t ask you to fall,” he answers, breathy and low.

It doesn’t answer the question she asked, but it hurts. Her hand slides up, passes his jaw, before she buries her fingers in his curls. “I know, Lucifer,” she says as she tugs him down for a kiss. Her free hand finds its way into feathers, trails downward until she feels the curve of his rib, the slight stickiness of preen oil. “Would you let me fall?” she asks again, shifting them so her ass is pressed against the railing and his body is against hers. She hears his breath hitch before his hands grip her tightly.

“I wouldn’t,” he replies, sharply, but his voice is undercut with apprehension, desire, and she thinks a bit of fear. “I would never let you fall, Chloe.” 

“Then don’t.” She wants him, right here on the balcony for all his stars to see. Let them see her made undone by the same being who had created their light. Chloe tugs on a feather as she kisses him again, and he pulls back with a whine. “Lucifer?”

His eyes are dark and in them she can see the glittering pinpricks of the city lights. He is hard against her belly, wings flaring and shaking, but before she can ask him if he’s all right, she finds herself spun to face the skyline and with his body pressed against her back. “I’m not worth a fall,” he says, low against her ear, and his lips chase the breath he exhales.

In the corner of her eye, she sees his wings fan out, a counterbalance to the weight she feels as he presses into her, almost too slowly. One hand is solid on the rail, the other a vise around her hip, but not enough to bruise, never enough, unless she asks. Her own hands find purchase on the railing, fumbling for something steady until he is fully inside her. There is an inferno blazing in her now, cooled only by her hips against glass. “Please,” she whimpers, and it is enough.

Lucifer’s lips are scorching on her jaw, her neck, her shoulder, setting her skin ablaze so that she may burn like the stars. And she _is_ stardust and iron at her core. Her hands shake as she reaches back, looking for anything to touch, brushes her fingers against his wings and feels the electricity crackle through her. She is vaguely aware of the press of metal against her belly as his hips snap against her but it’s overwhelmed by the sprawling city below, the sound of him at her ear, the sense of weightlessness that comes from standing at the edge of a cliff. _I would never let you fall_.

Wind buffets over her, his wings fighting, _aching_ for her touch, but instead they keep him steady, keep _them_ upright. Chloe wishes she could see him, the unwilling king with his teeth against her skin, his fingers dragging down her abdomen to slip between her folds. If she was blessed with the gift of tongues, she would say something, _anything_, sing him a litany of praises, but she will settle for gasping into the air.

She wants nothing more than to throw her head back, to watch the stars as she comes undone, but can only manage the first, burying her face in the crook of his neck as the fire grows and grows until there is nothing left to burn. And she sees the stars when her eyes are squeezed shut, his name a broken sound on her tongue. She has already fallen, the fruit of the tree sweet on her lips and her skin, and she only wants more.

Damp glass meets her thighs as she finds herself pressed into the balustrades one last time as Lucifer rakes his teeth over her shoulder, letting go with a muffled cry that she knows must have echoed across the gates of Heaven. His wings snap shut then flare open, catching the light of the city, and she can just barely see them as she sags back against him. "_Chloe_," he says, holding tight, holding firm.

Across the city, she catches sight of the hills, their rising peaks like that of a crown in the haze. Lucifer stays behind her, braces them against the glass even as he folds his wings around her. He holds them there, bearing witness to the slowly calming rhythm of her breathing, standing still and silent as his own heart settles. “Chloe,” he says again, and she will never grow tired of hearing the way he says it, the space it holds as it falls from ancient lips. As if the word itself was consecrated ground. 

“Yes?” she asks, wishing desperately that she could twist in his embrace, press her fingertips to his throat and _feel_ him say it. But when he speaks again with his lips pressed against her skin, she can feel it anyway, and although she does not understand the syllables, she knows their meaning. Soft sounds rumble through her, spreading through her veins like lightning, and she _knows_ that it is good.

**Author's Note:**

> *kicks this out into the world* thank you to [obli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla) for her help and cheerleading and to everyone else in FH for either directly or indirectly making this happen.


End file.
